


all of my goodness is gone with you now (ah but i’m singing like a bird for you now)

by starlight_in_the_gloom



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, basically: demigod au, music and angst, myth of orpheus, the geraskier is there ! but uhhh pre relationship basically, what else can i say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23041063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_in_the_gloom/pseuds/starlight_in_the_gloom
Summary: Geralt dies.Jaskier has an audience with Hades.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 1
Kudos: 145





	all of my goodness is gone with you now (ah but i’m singing like a bird for you now)

**Author's Note:**

> SO basically Percy Jackson au? There might be more of this in the future,, but not more chapters in this particular fic

The journey to Hades took three days.

Once you’d been the first time, it wasn’t hard to find your way back. Jaskier was barely harassed by monsters on his way there—but that may have just been due to the war.

Regardless.

Jaskier made his way across the country, no side quests, no pit stops, until he reached California. He handed two drachmae to Charon with a wink and a smile (“Hey hot stuff, remember me?” “You’ve _ got _ to be kidding me _ —” _ ) and descended.

It’s just like he remembers. It feels like the gravity increases, until it pulls at his chest and the soles of his feet, like being on a particularly fast roller coaster. The shadows that press in almost knock the air out of his lungs.

But he’s not 12 anymore, and he wouldn’t say he’s braver now, but he’s fucking  _ tired _ . And with that comes a certain type of apathy, the type that says ‘Screw this, screw you. You won’t get in my way anymore.’

So here he is.

Jaskier makes his way on the ferry over the Styx. He doesn’t even glance into the water. He bypasses the crowds lined up to be sorted into an afterlife, tosses Cerberus a red rubber ball, and ignores it when the guards shout after him.

He was expecting a fight, but, no one really tried to stop him. Maybe they recognize him. Maybe it’s the familiar old lyre strapped to the back, telling them all what he’s come here to do. Maybe they can sense the Apollo in him, a little piece of sun carried down into this dark place.

Regardless, the point is: he makes it to Hades’ palace with relative ease. It, too, is just as he remembers; a behemoth of matte obsidian in intricate twists, flanked by a sprawling garden. Juxtaposing the rest of the dead landscape, the garden is full of verdant trees, swollen with glistening pomegranates and rubies.

And when he approaches the door, and the two skeleton guards there see him? They do nothing. They let him grip the scrimshaw handle and push it open.

It’s easier than it was four years ago.

Hades waits in the throne room. More of a cathedral, really, all stained-glass windows and smooth black marble striated with gold. His crown is made of bones and gems dark like his eyes, and he glowers down at Jaskier, who fights the urge to flinch.

“I don’t really get the windows,” Jaskier tells Hades. “There’s no light, so no point, really. It was an interesting choice on your part. Can I ask your reasoning?”

Hades grits his teeth. Persephone, beautiful and terrifying in her wine-red gown, rolls her eyes. This is why Jaskier chose to come here in the winter. Better chance of succeeding in his quest.

“Get on with it, child.” Hades rumbles, and Jaskier pulls the lyre off his back.

“Geralt is dead,” he says. “But you already knew that. I want him back.”

The ghost of a smirk touches the King of the Dead’s lips. “It does not work that way.” He replies derisively.

“You offered a deal to Orpheus,” Jaskier points out. “He could take Eurydice, but only if he didn’t look back. I’ve come to ask for the same deal.”

“I gave Orpheus that deal because he played for me,” Hades growled. “All it seems like  _ you’ve  _ done so far is been a—”

“Let the boy play, dear.” Persephone interjects, looking at Jaskier. His skin prickles.

Hades stops. He cocks an eyebrow at her questioningly.

“I’ve heard he,” and she pauses here, “shows promise.”

Jaskier hates the way she looks at him. He does not smile. His heart is pounding with – something he does not want to name.

Only, every time he closes his eyes, all he sees is Geralt. Geralt when they were twelve, and learning to trust each other in the back of a petting zoo van that smelled like wet goat.

The way his eyes had flashed in the dark.

Then Geralt when they were older, and the ship was going down, and his dark hair was plastered across his face with saltwater, but they were together so they’d survive—they had to—and then again, the sky on Geralt’s back and his hair white as snow, now, and then the two of them lost in the labyrinth—when Jaskier thought he was dead that time, the awful empty feeling in his chest—

And then in Olympus. Geralt dying as he held him.

Jaskier had never been good at healing.

No, no, but he was good at music! Songs! Oh, you’re dying? Anyway, here’s fucking Wonderwall! But his  _ best friend is dead and what good is his music now if he couldn’t even save the one he— _

__ __ He couldn’t save Geralt when it counted. He’s going to make it count now.

So when he pulls Orpheus’s lyre off his back (how he got that lyre is another story altogether) and he sets his hands to strings, he pours everything he has into it. Whatever divinity he’s got, whatever talent or skill, all the emotion and the passion and the sick grief he cannot shake; he empties all of it into each note.

When he finishes, he feels like he’s run a race. Or swallowed broken glass. Or both.

Blood drips down his chin.

Persephone and Hades are deathly silent.

Jaskier laughs, a bit hysterically.

  
  
  
  
  


Jaskier emerges from Hades to a sunset. He blinks at it, the light hurting his eyes after so long underground. He is shaking.

He squeezes his eyes shut. He is too afraid of what he’ll see—if he’ll see Geralt, or empty air, or something worse than anything he can imagine.

“Jaskier?” Geralt rasps behind him. Jaskier’s eyes snap open. He still doesn’t turn around. “The fuck?”

He can scarcely breathe. There’s a familiar, annoyed huff, and then Geralt is circling around to his front, and he’s  _ there  _ he’s  _ alive  _ he’s  _ okay _ , like nothing ever happened.

“I…” Jaskier falters, looking up at him. He hadn’t known until just now that gold was his favorite color. Specifically, the shade of gold found in Geralt’s eyes.

“ _ Now  _ you’re speechless,” Geralt growls. He sighs irritably. “I died.” Geralt says, as if it’s simple math. “I don’t remember what comes after that. Did—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jaskier interrupts, in a rush, as if floodgates are upon. “Uh, you did die, but it’s fine now. You don’t remember any of—”

“No, not until just now, Jaskier—”   
  


“It doesn’t matter, what happened in between isn’t important, what  _ is  _ important is right now and—”

“ _ Jaskier—”  _ Jaskier suddenly realizes how much he missed it when Geralt said his name like that. It used to infuriate him. But he likes to think there’s a fondness to it, now.

“It’s not important,” Jaskier insists. “The important thing is that you’re alright now. Do you want to get coffee together?”

Geralt blinks at him, taken aback. “…What?”

With his face dyed yellow and purple in the sun, Geralt looks like a fucking angel. Jaskier smiles.

“Coffee.” Jaskier repeats. “Remember when we, uh, said we should- get coffee sometime? Like normal people? Because you’ve really never done that sort of thing and it’s a damn travesty-”

“Does everyone think I’m dead,” Geralt says, all intense.

It’s Jaskier’s turn to sigh irritably. “Yes, and that’s not a bad thing!”

“…What.”

“They drag you around everywhere, making you do all their work and their quests, and if they think you’re dead, maybe you could get some peace? Road trip?” Jaskier offers. It’s weaker, now that he says it out loud. He’d planned this all out in his head, but now that they’re here, he finds none of it comes out the way he wants it to.

Yet. Miracle of miracles. A long pause. A  _ smile  _ breaks across Geralt’s face. Jaskier is melting.

“Alright,” he says softly. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”

  
  
  


They get coffee. Well—Jaskier gets a sugary concoction that can hardly be deemed a classic coffee. Geralt hates it. His own coffee is bitter and black and warm like his soul.

  
  
  
  


There will be more battles to be fought. There is worse yet to come.

  
  
  
  
  


Jaskier smiles as the sun sets on their happy ending.

**Author's Note:**

> It wasn’t mentioned, but Geralt is, in fact, a son of nemesis. Wherever she is, Yennefer is a daughter of Hecate, and Triss is daughter of ROMAN Apollo. Her specialty is closer to medicine. Ciri is a legacy of Bellona. This world is very fleshed out in my head, but who knows if I’ll get around to more of it  
> The song Jaskier sings is close to Shrike by Hozier, but I didn’t want to say it IS, because Jaskier probably wrote his own. So Shrike and Epic III (Hadestown) had a baby and that’s the song he plays.  
> Thank you for reading! Hope u had fun


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